


It's Beginning to Feel a lot like Christmas

by alicechugstea



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M, Secret Santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:55:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28337313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alicechugstea/pseuds/alicechugstea
Summary: For Teapot! Merry Christmas!Short and sweet - Ryuji joins Akira for his first solo Christmas, nestled cosy in Leblanc under the breast of a snowstorm.
Relationships: Kurusu Akira/Sakamoto Ryuji
Kudos: 17





	It's Beginning to Feel a lot like Christmas

It’s the heaviest snow-storm to hit Tokyo in fifteen years. 

Ryuji rubs his numb fingers together, resisting the temptation to scratch at the itchy acrylic wool. With the most recent train cancelled, he has to walk the last few stations on foot. What should be a pleasant, straightforward twenty minute journey becomes a gruelling, simultaneously sweaty and freezing slog. 

Grey slush swirls with the blistering white as each crunch crunch crunch brings him down the street. Both the falling snow and the flickering street lamps gleam lazily in the winter evening, the darkness starved off by a flicker of store front neon, the distant ring of a bicycle bell. 

At least he’d had the forefront to message Akira earlier, before getting off the train. 

> _ bruuuh, i’ll be late :((( they cancelled the last train like four stops down so i gotta walk  _

_ > !!!! be safe my buppy _

_ >p*puppy _

_ >WWWWW BUPPY, AM I UR BUPPY NOW _

_ > shut it, shut thy pie hole _

_ > but b u p p y _ _  
_ _ >am i ur buppy _ _  
_ _ >dw boo ur buppy will be here soon xoxoxoxo _

He grins underneath the shelter of his hoodie, pulled tight around his ears. Hopefully all the junk that he has stored in his backpack will be safe by the time he gets there. He isn’t particularly fond of slightly damp and musty smelling pajamas, thank you. 

Yogen-Jaya is coming up in the next block - the map app happily dings in his ear and he grimaces. God, his legs are  _ numb _ , more ice block than flesh at this point. 

It clouds in front of his face as he huffs and puffs over a particularly lumpy slosh of snow on the curb, feet sliding only a little on the black ice as he waddles past the crossing at the edge of the neighbourhood. Just their luck that the first Christmas Akira spends back in Tokyo is on such an auspicious day like this. 

It takes Ryuji a good shake of the head to chase the sudden, visceral image of Akira in all his black mop haired glory, sitting silently on a bar stool, hands wrapped around a cloudy glass of steaming coffee. 

Ryuji bites his tongue. A week here and nothing but a few notifications on app updates and spam emails, despite having his phone on him pretty much 24/7, as is the rule of Generation Z. 

It’s not like Akira’s a flamboyant homosexual (he says the theatrics for Mementoss and, unsurprisingly, karaoke) though the ayssymetrical pleated maxi skirt hanging conspicuously next to his crate bed often pleads innocently as the both of them, but really. He’s a recovered? Reinstated? Not really but semi-was? Juvenile delinquent. It’s no reason to not call over your son’s first  _ solo Christmas.  _ A text. A voicemail. A cheesy and bare minimum just there effort holiday gif sent over Wechat.  _ Something.  _

He trudges the corner, swearing under his breath. Thankfully, Akira has left the lights of Leblanc on - a beacon in the darkness! A lighthouse in the fog! A big finger pointing towards a solid oak door, screaming comfort and warmth and spiced, sweet and savory things!

The bell jangles loudly. Did he really need to shoulder barge his way in? No. Does he care? Also no. And also because he can’t really feel half of his body, so is he really barging or just stepping through as carefully as he can, with his paper skin and glass bones, where every morning he breaks his legs, and every afternoon he breaks his arms-

“Lord, and they complain that  _ I’m  _ the dramatic one.”

Was he monologuing out loud? The last of the iconic Spongebob Squarepants verse dissipates and he bids farewell to the meme memory. It’s been a running joke of theirs now - both of them have it memorised to the very syllable and Akira finds it hilarious to break it out everytime Ryuji gets a funny feeling about his knee.  _ At night, I lie awake in agony until my heart attacks put me to sleep _ he recites with doe eyes and a trembling, plush lip, hands resting so disgustingly light on his shoulder that Ryuji usually kicks him in the shin to push him away. He’ll snort and Ryuji will grin, following it up with the punch line “ _ I know we’re both raging, shove it in your face gays, but let's save the dramatics for more homosexual time.”  _ And then that’s that. 

The first thing he feels it the wave of heat that billows across his face, thawing out the tight skin. He sighs heavily, wiggling his nose and cheeks to the sensation of blood prickling back underneath.

Akira’s head is lying sideways across the bar table, eyes twinkling with a very special kind of mischief. Next to him, the culprit steams soft and sweet in a ceramic mug. The scent of cinnamon and thick, syrupy wine wafts around the cozy space of the cafe. Ryuji dusts his head of snow as he shucks off his coat. 

“Miss me?” He slides into the seat opposite of Akira, conscious of the way the steely eyes track his movements. Akira respositions his head, pushing his head into Ryuji’s outstretched palm.

“Of course I missed my buppy!” The voice is a little muffled as his face is pressed into the wood of the table, but Ryuji huffs in delight anyway. He scratches his hand down Akira’s scalp and feels, for a lack of a better word, him purr. 

_ Temperatures will hit a low of -2 today, with the possibility of the blizzard sweeping central Tokyo again at approximately 2am. Be sure to stay warm and to seal any gaps in the windows.... _

  
  


Akira pulls back with a curl of a smile. “Let’s get you warmed up. I’ve got leftover curry and spiced apple cider from Haru in the second pot. Want some?”

Under the hum of the warm lights and the drone of the centuries old television, Ryuji agrees wholeheartedly, and thumbs the velvet box in his pocket. 


End file.
